


Further Down the Path Prepared

by winternacht



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Revolutionary Girl Utena References, Trapped In Elevator, Truth Spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 10:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19333036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/pseuds/winternacht
Summary: Jon gets a taste of his own power.





	Further Down the Path Prepared

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sugarboat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/gifts).



> Inspired by a conversation with Sugarboat! :D Thank you for the idea!  
> The elevator in this story is a reference to the clearly Beholding-affiliated elevator in Revolutionary Girl Utena.

It had to be a prank. If it had happened only two years ago, Jon would have assumed it was a prank, just a random annoyance he had to deal with. Or maybe something done with the intention to lighten the mood a little, which had considerably soured after the flesh hive’s attack.

But there was nobody left who would play pranks.

And still, someone had to have snuck past the archives without Jon noticing in order to stick those signs on the wall – hands pointing down the hallway towards artefact storage, all neatly attached to the wall with Sellotape at every corner.

He wondered if it had been Elias, in a display of his odd sense of humour. But he had the odd feeling that if Elias had come down to the Archives, he would have… known. Just the way he knew Elias was sitting in his office now, on the phone with one of the less supernaturally inclined donors to the Magnus Institute, probably assuring them that of course it had all just been quite a misunderstanding, and that he would never murder anyone, much less a harmless old man or his very own archivist.

By the time he reached artefact storage, he’d easily torn down a dozen pictures, papers crinkling in his grip, which grew ever tighter, his steps brisk and heavy. But then he hesitated. He’d never liked coming down here much. In the beginning, he’d scoffed at the collection, trying to convince himself it was all just superstition, with the exception of the few Leitner books kept down there. And later, he’d found out it was the place where Sasha had been taken away. The Sasha he’d never known, and even with all the power at his disposal, would never know. It still hurt.

And suddenly, the thought that it might have been that… that thing that had taken her crossed his mind. That it had escaped somehow and was now out for revenge. Maybe had split itself neatly into twelve pieces of paper that would transform and engulf him any second now.

He didn’t think that was likely, but perhaps it would be wiser to get a letter opener, just in case. At worst, he’d just find Sonja, who probably already shared everyone else’s less flattering opinion on him, sitting inside, going over their recent acquisitions. Then again, she’d been responsible for artefact storage for quite a while now, so perhaps not. Not that it was likely she was around anyway. It was Saturday, and the only ones around were… well. Those who couldn’t leave without suffering dire consequences.

Jon hastily went back to his office to get a letter opener. He felt slightly better with its weight in his hand even though if someone were to actually set a trap for him, he would hardly know what to do with it. Perhaps he’d be better advised to try bludgeoning any attacker with one of his tape recorders. Or perhaps he should call Melanie. And Daisy and Basira. Maybe even-

He stopped dead in his tracks when he exited the office. There, along the wall, the pointing hands had returned. Closer together this time. He must have passed nearly twice as many as before when he found himself standing in front of the heavy door to artefact storage again, not even bothering to take down any of the pictures this time.

Maybe it was Helen. Though in this form, the distortion had not yet displayed as much of a sense of… playfulness, if it could be called that. But someone or something wanted to toy with his mind. But at least, inside the institute, he would have the upper hand. This was a place of Beholding, after all.

His hands were steady as he unlocked the door and turned on the light. To his utter lack of surprise, there were further signs stuck to the walls. More hands pointing him deeper into the room.

“Is anyone there?” he called out. No response. Well. That was hardly surprising either. Not like a member of the public who might be grateful to find a helping hand guiding them out of a locked creepy storage room would go around pranking people.

Now would be the time to turn around. But he couldn’t. He was too curious, too eager to find out who was leading him where. And if someone was targeting him, then it would be better to not get anyone else involved.

The hands led him past items he recognised and those he didn’t. They must have been added while he’d been in a coma. Or rather, dead. Odd, how he’d never bothered much with the items. They didn’t quite have the same draw as the statements for him. Must have been the lack of human suffering directly attached to them. Though if he looked closer, he would probably find traces of it clinging to the items.   

Jon made a mental note to go over the new additions later. For now, he let himself be guided along, around corners and down a spiral staircase on one side, and up again on the other, and then further down again. All the while, the area was deathly silent save for his own hesitant footsteps across the hardwood floor, creaking occasionally. He’d never quite understood why the layout was such a mess but given what he now knew about Leitner’s library and Jonah’s friendship with Smirke, it was rather obvious. Containing the powers. Perhaps Sonja knew more than she’d let on. Perhaps he should ask her.

His eyes passing along the wall, he walked into the two chairs that blocked his path, their legs grinding across the floor, accompanied by the clatter of hard plastic and Jon’s yelp as he tried to keep his balance. The two signs propped up against their backs had fallen over, but it was still clear where they were pointing – towards a door to his right.

It was a regular wooden door, entirely unremarkable, save for the oddly ornate doorknob. And the sign dangling from it: “vacant”.

As far as Jon was aware, there were no toilets in artefact storage. And he dearly hoped that whatever lay behind it was not, in fact, a cursed toilet. But at the very least, it did not look like the door the distortion favoured. It wasn’t Helen.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. There was a small room, illuminated by a lone fluorescent tube attached to the ceiling. Sparsely decorated with a mirror at sitting height and a picture of a butterfly. A lone chair sat in the corner. And apart from that, the only thing in the room was stale air. Nothing about it was inviting in the slightest, and Jon did not understand why he didn’t just shut the door. Why he didn’t just turn on his heel and leave.

Why he entered the room instead and sat down and let the door fall closed behind him with a creak.

“Jonathan Sims. The Archivist.” The words escaped his mouth unhindered, leaving his tongue feel oddly tingly in their wake, like he’d taken a sip of soda. Vaguely pleasant and refreshing. Until the room started moving, shaking as it did like an old elevator, forcing Jon brace himself against the wall to his side with a hand, flinching immediately. It was ice cold. He watched his eyes widen in the mirror, mouth opening to let out a gasp. He tried to stand but he couldn’t.

“I-“ Jon pressed his lips together, trying to remain quiet. Hopeless. A feeling like static built in his throat, climbing up to the tip of his tongue, setting sparks against his palate, against the barrier of his teeth. Nothing about this was pleasant in any way anymore.

“When Elias told me that I was to be the new head archivist, it felt like finally found my purpose in life. Working at the institute was supposed to be temporary, just until I found my footing, but then something clicked. My conviction was enough to blind me to my lack of qualifications. And more than that-“

Jon swallowed hard against the words that threatened to spill out. Shards of glass scraped down his throat, and it would be so easy to cough them out if he just gave in. The cold light danced across his face, lending his reflection a ghastly glow while making the shadows stand out starkly. Fear glowed in his eyes, and yet his voice continued. Soft and content and utterly undisturbed.

“I wanted to prove Elias right. To impress him. He was not effusive with his praise, never was, really, but I could see how pleased he was when I figured out how to record the real statements. But soon, it wasn’t enough, and it wasn’t about him anymore. It was about the statements themselves, about experiencing them and feeding the power that forced these fears upon me. Fears that I gladly accepted no matter how afraid I was. No matter the consequences that soon became apparent.

“And still, I kept going, because turning back was not an option, had never been an option. And the further down this path I go, the more I-“

He bit his lips, his tongue, tasted blood. In the mirror, he watched the blood drip down his chin. It was better than hearing what he was going to say.

“-believe I understand Elias. And I wish I didn’t.”

He squirmed atop the hard seat, legs bouncing in aborted attempts to stand up, arms twitching to find a panel to stop the elevator and end this. But it simply kept plunging further down. In the mirror, he could see that the picture on the wall had changed. The butterfly had reverted to a caterpillar.

“But sometimes, when I have finished drawing answers and statements out of others, I can feel him watching me. A connection between us like a string, and perhaps if I pulled, I could pull him to me, so I can be the one who watches, so I can be the one who leaves him stumbling helplessly.

“But maybe this is what he wants. And maybe, when I’ve finally brought him down, he would still look up at me the way he looked at me back then, the way the Eye looks at me. And in turn, I would look into his eyes, and I would feel…”

He tried to cover his mouth, his hand shaking, nails digging into the flesh of his cheeks. He tried to close his eyes, but he couldn’t look away, couldn’t make himself avert his gaze from the half-lidded expression as the last word passed his lips.

“…whole.”

The light flicked and died.

Jon sat slumped in the chair when the door opened, a shadow blocking the brightness flooding the room. Weakly, he lifted his head. Elias.

“Come here, Jon,” he said, his voice soft, and Jon obeyed, pushing himself up on shaky legs. He was glad when Elias grasped his arm to steady him as he pulled him out of the elevator. Unable and unwilling to resist when Elias pulled him into his arms and simply held him there. A quick glance towards the elevator revealed the image of a leaf. Then the door closed.

Later, Jon would have an entire range of questions for him. About the signs. About the elevator that had ended up leading to his office. About Elias’ plans for him. And he hoped every single one would dig just as deep as the compulsion he’d experienced had.

But for now, all he did was lean into Elias’ embrace and close his eyes. Allow himself to be comforted by gentle words of praise that felt earned and still undeserved.


End file.
